THE BREAKING POINT
You’ve seen it happen in Target. A frazzled mom freaks out because her kid has been touching everything within his reach and that box of tampons was the last straw. It happens to me. I yell. I lose it.
The perfect mom standard feels hundreds of miles away. There is nothing worse than seeing your kid’s face after you yell. When this happens, I’m up at 3 a.m. ashamed, anxious and talking to myself. How could I do that? It’s okay; they know you didn’t mean it. Do they still know I love them? Yes they do. (I feel a bit like Gollum and Sméagol here, the two halves of a hobbit gone bad.) Then I go into their bedrooms and give them hugs while they are sleeping.
